Lost and Found
by colossalpenguin
Summary: AU. Set with the Peter Pan of OUAT. Wendy goes into hiding after Pan destroys her life. Safety is limited because the tyrant finds his bird and wants to keep it to himself. A lot has changed in Pan since the last time she saw him. The dark undersides that had once been mere back thoughts are now treacherous features dominating the boy's life. PanxWendy. Rated M for mature content.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is obviously AU. Very different sort of OUAT peter pan fanfic. **

**Tell me about this first chapter!**

Chapter one: The Bird

The beauty about hiding from Pan in a world without magic is knowing he can never use his powers to find you. His unlimited strength is squashed to dust if he steps into the world-without-magic. I was delighted to know Peter was nothing but normal when it came to this world. But hiding from Pan proved to be a backfiring plan that exploded in my face. No matter where I was, he seemed to find me.

A long, long time ago, I was Wendy Moira Angela Darling. I was Peter Pan's pawn, his pet. With treacherous games and taunting jokes, he made me his. Every fiber and inch of me belonged to the tyrannic boy king, who loved to rob me of my individuality and freedom. He caged me, literally. I was a bird with strong wings, locked up in a bamboo cage, forbidden to fly freely. My rebellious attempts at escaping were squandered by his rough hands and powerful words. His words. They stung like a million needles piercing my heart all at once. Torture was what living with Peter was.

But it didn't start out as torture and pain. The story began with a wonderful flight through star-lit skies, rigorous adventures through mountains, the curve of a cloud under my back, and the warm fire licking my body. Peter always made a smile appear on my lips. He captured my kisses with a sweet innocence and never allowed more than one peck. He had a delicious restraint, and he smiled easily.

Then the games became taunts. If you ask me, Peter saw something in me that created such anger in him that he took it out on everyone. The acrimony started with shoves to the ground, dirty words spoken through clenched teeth, lips bitten to the blood. The aggravation increased with slaps to the face, bruises on limbs, ripped clothing. The answers to all my questions as to why my life was being ruined was always: "Because you fucked me up!"

I never understood what those words ever meant. At that time, I was thirteen years of age, barely blossoming into womanhood, but there was always a back thought whenever Peter came to torment me. My mind always replayed the longing, frowned looks he gave to my body once upon a time. When my dress would uncover more skin, his eyes would dart curiously at the flesh exposed, and a frown would knit his slender brows. Sometimes, his hand would rest on my bare arm, massaging the skin. I merely took the gesture as brotherly love, because that was what Peter was to me back then. The way he acted and showed himself was pure of an older brother, even if I never had one. Nevertheless, he gave me the feeling of protection and the warm fuzzy sensation of a family.

Then, when his anger bloomed, he despised any physical contact with me. Even the slightest of touches would send him whirling down on me in rage. My back would be thrown against a tree, blood would be spat out of my mouth, and I would once again find myself in tears. He locked me up to keep my appearance from flowering more anger in him.

When the torment was getting to an apex, he threw me against the ground and pinned my wrists to the dirt. A feeling, so strong and sour, invaded my belly. I felt the ravenous monster in him lurk through the glassy veils of his boyish eyes. The fear flourishing in me was the fuel to his fire, and he latched his sharp teeth to my neck and left a scar that will forever imprint my flesh.

My tears and screaming and thrashing never once bothered him, but he seemed angered by his own actions. He seemed to viciously hate what he was doing, but at the same time, he seemed to be loving it. All the sweet, boyish chastity I had ever known vanished completely in that moment. All the hope I had to finding that naiveté was crushed to bits when the blood started leaking down my throat.

I yelled his name, but he cupped my mouth and forced the words back in. There was something hard between us, at the place where we connected; our hips. Back then, I didn't think anything of it. But today I knew it was his boyhood expressing all the pent up anger and tension he had felt towards me.

After that episode, I made my preparations to leave Neverland. I was fed up of the aching pain in my heart and the bruises painted my body. I got John, but Michael was out of reach at the moment of my escape. Peter was already furious of my leaving, if I had went back for Michael, I wouldn't be telling you this story right now.

After my tragic escape with a known, local pirate, my life became an immense lie.

I was from the 19th century. Returning to the real world landed me in the year 2011 in Houston, Texas. Michael and the captain hid me under the name Calla Montgomery in Phoenix, Arizona. I entered high school, and ever since, I've adapted to my life.

I still wasn't used to my pseudo name. Even after three years of leaving Neverland, Calla was just not a name I was used to. With it being hollered in the school halls, it made a sickening crawling sensation roll over my skin. Calla Montgomery.

Arizonian high schools were highly stereotypical. Hierarchical ladders of blonde hair, blue eyes were framed on the walls, capturing the engrossing moments of teenage 'hipsters'. Lunch tables were social discrimination. Geeks and goths at this table, blondes and jocks at that table. All the movies which suggested the typical blonde supremacy were bunched up in the cafeteria. Walking in for the noon break was like stepping onto a Clueless set.

Brad came crashing down the halls, my name dropping from his mouth angrily. "Dammit, Calla!" he grunted. His baby round face appeared before me. Eyes the color of crystalline waters peered at me from under thick blonde eyebrows. "You forgot your physics notes in class again." He handed me the worn blue booklet.

The first time I had ever walked into a high school had been the most terrifying experience of my life. The stench of sweat, the loud screeching voices, and the suffocating crowds. I was disoriented, scared, and lost in a sea of extreme unknown. The first person to make that fear dissipate was Brad Wesley. Football quarter back, star athlete, golden grades, and a crowd of groupies was what pretty much summed up Brad. And I liked him for it. He was shallow, and never wanted anything deeper than a question about chemistry. He never once question my origin, which made it easier to like him.

"I'm terribly sorry, Brad," I hushed, grabbing the notebook from his calloused hands. Football had rid all the softness from him.

"I was thinking," he started shyly as we began striding down the hallway, "can I get a favor?"

His baby blue eyes, the size of huge walnuts, stared at me with divine childishness. I felt like I was talking with a youngster.

"Of course!" I laughed.

"The dance, tomorrow," he said all in a rush, "I'd like you to accompany me."

I smiled. The idea of accompanying a boy to a dance was much more formal to me than it would ever be to him. For me, it meant asking my father for permission, dinner at the house first, and then the ball. However, the modern days and the death of my entire family was another reminder that never ceased to haunt me. His question was nothing formal. It was what teenagers did in the modern days.

"Isn't Caroline your girlfriend?" I asked. The first time I'd heard that word was the most complicated conversation I'd had. Girlfriend. Another word for a girl you are with romantically.

"Calla, where have you been the past four weeks?" he chortled. One of his huge hand grabbed my shoulder amiably and we bumped against one another. "Caroline and me are done, nada, nothing!"

"Am I rebound then?" I offered sarcastically. I also knew that Brad and I would never be more than friends. Nothing between us suggested any relationship was possible.

My reply left him speechless. He stared at me as I opened my locker and gracefully packed my school bag. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that staring is impolite?" I joked freely, punching his shoulder. He huffed.

"Didn't yours teach you how to answer a boy when he asks you a question?"

His reply was so innocent. But inside me, I broke. My heart shattered the tiniest bit.

Gulping, I answered, "my mother was just absent for that lesson, I suppose." The words drifted off my lips like wind, and I felt the heaviness of longing drop in my stomach.

With the same naiveté that he joked about my mother with, Brad clapped me on the shoulder and chuckled. "I need an answer by tonight, Montgomery!"

I also never understood why people called themselves by their last names.

"I'll think it through, Wesley." I tried talking slang, but the words were rough and unknown in my mouth. So I simply stuck to my normal speech, and told everybody I had spent my childhood in London.

Brad left, laughing and shaking his head apathetically. I couldn't help a smirk. He was such a boy. His careless personality reminded me of John before our endeavors with Peter.

The thought of Pan sent swirls of mixed hate and fear to bubble in my stomach. Even after all these years, just the mere thought of him was enough to make a good day turn into a bad one.

* * *

><p>I was walking from the gymnasium to the cafeteria hall when Jenni and Alison intercepted me. They had bright, shining smiles plastered on their faces, hot pink lip gloss shimmering in the school lighting. "Calla, ha, found you!" Jenni cheered.<p>

She draped a bony arm over my shoulders and huddled me to her body. Alison, on the other hand, settled to play with my caramel colored hair. "So, there's this guy asking for you at reception," Jenni started. I frowned. It could only be Michael.

Alison giggled. "He's pretty cute." I turned to stare at her. The only reason why Jenni, Alison, and I were friends was because they had decided that. One day, the girls clambered down the halls, gripped my bicep, and forced me into Ali's house. They stuck make-up to my face, read me pathetic romance novels, and made me watch movies upon movies. Then Jenni suggested we be a "BFF" trio. Ever since, the pair have latched themselves on me like leeches.

"Did he say his name?" I asked, my English accent heavy against their Southern one. Ali shook her head.

"Nah," she mumbled, fingering my mane again. "He's tall though, really handsome." Her eyes shone with something along the lines of either jealousy or true friendly happiness.

"Got these eyes, like, damn!" Jenni bit her lip, squealing into her clenched mouth. "Where did you fetch this guy?"

I shook my head slowly as they continued to walk me through the building. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea who that boy is," I answered. "He must have me confused with someone else."

Jenni stopped dead in her tracks. She stared me down like I had said something so stupid. "Yo, who else is named Calla Montgomery in this school?"

I sighed. "Beg you pardon, but three other people bear the name Calla."

My comeback struck her dumb, and her ego was faltered. Ignoring my rebellion, she progressed to walk me to the mysterious boy.

We stepped into the main foyer of the building. An afternoon sun had cast a variety of intriguing shadows on the glistening floor. Reflecting rays danced off the window panes, catching my eyes. I shielded my vision with my hand, continuously walking to the front office. When my eyes landed on dirty, muddy brown boots, I froze.

I didn't even bother to look at who it was, or even to guess. I knew who those boots belonged to.

"Hey bird." The dreaded voice filled my ears like liquid fire. "Miss me?"

I gulped down vomit. The fear spread in my belly like an unleashed beast. Breathlessly, my voice sounding like wind, I sighed, "Peter."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two! ;) **

**nina sakurai: I am very grateful of your interest so early:) I have plans to continue this fic, no worries! Thank you very much.**

**LyrisaLove: Thank you for the Christmas wishes, goes back to you! Thanks for the review.**

**Saphira Blue: Thank you! I hope you like this one. **

Chapter two: And so the bird returns to the cage

The fear in me exploded. Rattling every bone and muscle in my body, the angst burned through me like a burning flame. Gnawing and tearing at me, it became whole. All I felt, standing before his eyes, was the trepidation in me. The shadows cast behind his slender figure oozed in and out of focus. Some danced with one another, others repelled each other like opposite poles. I felt the tearing sensation in me, the painful shredding of my heart. The deception, the fear, all in one created a murky nightmare.

Peter stood there, a cocky smile stretching at his lips. His hair wet from the rain outside, water droplets dripped from the unruly strands. His glistening, predator-like eyes were glassy veils of evil and dark temptation. Under all the cocky, boyish attitude, I saw the change, the metamorphosis. Clearly, the innocent chastity that had once been pure of Peter was gone, vanished with the wind. Nothing of his childhood virtue remained in him. Even if I scoured the deep nooks and crannies of his being, I was sure to find nothing but dusty darkness.

"You know him!" Jenni squealed next to me, playfully connecting her knuckles with my shoulder. My mouth was dry, my throat blocked. I was unable to formulate any kind of defense.

"So, Peter, is it?" Ali started, striding to him with the grace of a lioness. His eyes glided to her small structure, then back up to me.

"Yes."

I felt paralyzed. Every fiber in my body refused to make movement. The one movement I really wanted to make at the moment was run.

"Where you from?" Jenni piped in, her voice a delicious haze to my ears. My eyes stayed glued to the boy who looked peculiarly out of place. He huffed, a cocky and arrogant sound.

"Neverland." His voice blurred along the lines of pleasantries and truth. Jenni and Ali chorused a fake gasp of surprise.

"Well, Calla, you've got yourself the Peter Pan!"

Even though Jenni had meant it purely as a joke, my heart ached and the fear in me doubled. After three years of covering up my tracks and staying out of magic's way, I couldn't steer clear of Pan. And now, after all this dreaded time, he stood before me in all his boyish glory.

"Could you give us a moment?" he asked, never once taking his orbs off of me. The girls exchanged a wary look, but left me with my worse nightmare.

I looked away. He was smiling now, his pearly white teeth sharply sticking out from under plump pink lips. Making shivers crawl over my flesh, his grin was savage, snake-like. I couldn't look at him anymore, couldn't bear the sight of a returned devil within my dreams. I was caged, I was his bird again.

"I see you've done great here, Wendy," he drawled, his voice slick and tentative. I clenched my hands.

"Don't call me that." I didn't recognize my voice. It was dark and far away, and I think even the tone didn't belong to me.

Despite the malicious hate dripping from my voice, Peter wasn't the slightest deterred. "But, bird, that is your name."

I wanted to slap him, to explode of anger. However, that was exactly what the boy wanted. He wanted me angered, so he could ravish in my deterioration. The new found hate in him was obvious to the eye. Swimming in his green orbs was the evident enmity.

"My name is Calla Montgomery," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. A smile, sleek and cocky, stretched at his lips.

"I can see it in your eyes, bird," he huffed, "that you are still the Wendy that I knew."

The statement angered me more. My hands clenched until the blood had completely retreated from my fingers. My teeth clamped together painfully, a muscle in my jaw aching from the intense pressure.

"I am _nothing _like the Wendy you knew."

He laughed. The sound was horrible to my ears. Memories slid back into my mind, replaying their nostalgic scenes in my psyche. His laugh, which had once been pure and oh so innocent, buzzed in my ears. It had once laughed over me tripping and falling into a mud puddle. Or it had once laughed when I first shot a bow and arrow. But it had also laughed when blood caked my neck, or bruises appeared on my face. That laugh had undersides so dark, even the night was jealous.

"You are exactly as I remember you, bird," he cooed, taking a dangerous step towards me.

By then, some students were wondering the halls. Recess was approaching and some lonely skippers were drifting in and out of the lower foyer. I feared their wondering eyes; if they'd look at us and see something was wrong and alert the officials.

Pan continued, "you're still the feisty, stubborn little girl with a strong wit. You're still the determined, 'I-don't-let-anybody-step-all-over-me' girl." He took another step, and another until he stood so close that his breath fanned my forehead. He was still so much taller than me. "You still have that little fear of me." His voice was hushed and husky.

"Peter," I choked, taking a step away from him. His hand shot out and grabbed my bicep. I gasped, surprised by the contact and the electric bolts zapping up my arm.

He leaned in so close his nose touched mine. "And you still love to be manhandled, huh, little bird?"

I felt the tears coming, the sour feeling in my mouth. I wanted to hit him so hard, to make him bleed, make him _hurt_.

One tear spilled from my eyes just as he leaned back and let go of my arm. "C'mon, let's go," he muttered, motioning to the front doors. I gulped and looked around.

"What?"

"Let's go," he said once again. "We're leaving."

I shook my head vehemently. There was no way in hell that I was leaving with him anywhere. Trust in him was crushed to nothing the instant he turned into an evil teenage boy.

"No, Peter, I can't just leave," I said. My voice was now so small, so submissive.

He frowned. "Why not?" he asked, voice full of arrogance.

I couldn't believe that the same Pan that I had scoured Mermaid Lagoon with was the Pan standing in front of me now. He had once been so... different. And now there was a dark veil, so thick and hard, that covered his being.

"Because I cannot just leave and never come back," I started. "I've made connections with people here. I have a family, sort of! I cannot abandon everything I have worked for to go with you wherever you want us to go!"

I sounded desperate, and I knew it. However, there was a part of me that still believed Pan cared about me, that he'd still allow me time here to say goodbye.

"Does it look like I care about any of that?" he replied. My hopes were flattened by the blunt, careless tone of his voice.

I sighed heavily as tears spilled over my cheeks. My heart ached badly; for Peter, but mostly for Michael. "There there, bird," Peter cooed sarcastically. I felt his hand on my back as I turned and covered my face with my palms. "You'll get to see John again."

I sniffled. He was the typical guy who used your weaknesses against you. Peter knew I was fragile when it came to John.

"I-I..." I trailed off, letting some tears splatter on the floor. I looked around the foyer, at some lone students, at the walls filled with grad murals. How had I let this become me? How had I let such a normal life infiltrate my brain? I knew, deep down, that I would have to go back to Neverland some day or another. But I had let hope fill me, and now that my dreaded fear stood before me, those hopes were knives to my heart.

Straightening my shoulders, I turned my tear-wet face to the tyrant. He stared back with mild dis concern. "I want to get some stuff before we leave," I declared.

He grinned, his eyes returning to that suggestive allure. "And so the bird returns to the cage."

* * *

><p>Lauren was Michael and I's foster mother. We lived with three other children; Callie, Oliver, and Justin. Lauren was busy all the time and was rarely home, while the three other children were always out with friends. Being that my brother and I were shy and introverted, we tended to stay locked away in our rooms.<p>

567 Oak Way was a slender, tall building, with bricks as walls and a tin roof. A huge Oak tree stood proud and victorious on the front lawn. A battered swing was tied to a branch, where I had spent countless summer nights sitting and watching the stars.

Walking up the driveway, followed by Peter Pan, I looked up at Michael's window and sighed into the air. I knew Mike was home since he rarely went to school. The lost of John had hit him really hard, and he wasn't taking this world lightly.

I was afraid of his reaction to Peter. But when I walked into the house and saw two bags full of clothes lined on the wall, I realized Pan had been here before I had. "You came to Michael first?" I asked, my back to him as we stood in the main hall.

"I wanted to avoid you telling him." Was his ridiculous response.

All the fire from the day had vanished from me. I was numb as I trudged up the stairs to my room. There was something slow and fuzzy about how things were passing in front of my eyes; like they were on slow motion.

Upon opening the door to my room, I found Michael sitting on his bed, a wiry leather journal in his lap. I stared at him and felt the tears spilling over my cheeks. "This was dad's," he said. I nodded slowly. "He wrote about us in here."

"I know, Michael." I couldn't help the desperate cry in my voice. I sobbed against the back of my hand.

"He wrote about John so many times." Michael's dark head of hair lowered. He had grown so much in three years. He'd matured, but he'd saddened day by day. His hair had grown and went unkept, a small, teenage beard adorned his chin, and muscles of small mass had started developing on his body.

"Michael," I pleaded. My eyes were blurry with tears and I couldn't see him anymore.

He jerked towards me all of a sudden. "Pack your things, Wendy," he ordered, his voice loud and resembled our father's. I had never heard him use such a tone. It startled me.

"Michael, why-"

He interrupted me by getting to his feet rigorously. "Don't ask questions anymore!" I backed against the wall, a hand to my chest.

"Michael!" I scolded.

"Pack your fucking things, Wendy!"

"Michael, your mouth!" I screamed over him. He bent under the bend, retrieved a suitcase, and lunged it at me. I caught it before it could smash against my head. "What is wrong with you!?"

He turned to me before dashing through the door. "Don't you want to see John again, you careless bitch!?"

I heard his heavy, angered steps down the stairs and they disappeared outside.

Sliding down on the wall to my bottom, I sobbed loudly against the suit case. I clenched my teeth around the lining and screaming into it. Things had shifted uncontrollably fast, and it was hurting me.

"Wendy bird," came the cooing of Pan.

I stopped screaming and looked up at him. He held out a hand and I took it numbly.

He helped me pack my shirts, pants, nightgowns, and undergarments. I was helpless when he chose my clothing. I remembered my mother, so graceful and beautiful in anything she wore. If she could see the clothing I was packing now, she'd burn me at the stake. But I liked the clothing, more the ones that could cover me more, and I wasn't ashamed to wear pants anymore.

When the suit case was full, Peter grabbed it off the bed and held it. A warm hand was placed on my cheek. "Ready to go, bird?" he asked.

"Let's go to Neverland," I answered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all the reviewers! **

Chapter three: Condemned

I couldn't believe that I was standing on Neverland with damp sand curled around my bare toes. With wind rushing through my caramel locks, water droplets sticking to my skin, I couldn't suppress the deep sadness I felt as I stared up at the treacherous mountains ahead. The awful sense of déja-vu overwhelmed me. Being in Neverland was like reliving my nightmare all over again.

Numbly, I stepped through the sand, following Michael's footsteps. "Bird," Pan called as he was treading his way through the grit. I didn't bother to look at him. I knew he had this slick smile etched on his lips. "Do you recall the last time you saw John?"

I snapped my eyes up towards Michael. He slowed down, muscles in his back coiling. The anger lifted off of him like steam in a hot pot. I wanted to lung at Peter and rip his face apart.

Instead, I settled for something much more humble. "I do."

Peter huffed beside me, the sound cocky and arrogant.

The last time I had laid eyes on John was the night before my escape. He was waddling out of his tent, a teddy bear tucked under his arm. I knew, in those times, that John had to be left in the dark about our escape. If the child came to know, he was too young to understand it was a secret. He had come to me and wrapped his tiny arms around my legs. "Goodnight, John," I'd whispered. He had giggled childishly against my thigh.

"No bedtime story, tonight, Mother?" he'd asked. His eyes had rolled up to mine and I had felt the nagging power of Neverland eating away at his memory.

I'd sighed, "not tonight."

Despite my efforts to remind him of our real mother, John's memory had been wiped clean. "Goodnight then, Mother," he'd whispered.

I had watched him disappear into the forest and that was the last time I saw him.

Peter draped an arm over my shoulders, dragging my stiff body towards him. "You've changed, Wendy bird," he cooed in my ear. His breath fanned my hair, the smell of ash and forest invading my nostrils.

I remembered, as we strode on the beach, the times when Pan's breath was like a rose. And that there was something clear and innocent about it. Now, it was like he'd clenched youth between his teeth so hard, that the said youth had bled all over his mouth.

I didn't want to talk, or ask any questions. I had no idea what I would do once I was all settled in, but there was a part of me that wanted to leave Michael and John behind and leave once again. The ravenous demons from my nightmares were crawling back, claws sharp and bloodthirsty.

As Peter continued to whisper things in my ear, I followed Michael's footsteps in the sand until we reached the outskirts of the jungle. By then, my feet were already numb, the undersides sore from walking on grit. The arm around my shoulders tightened, the hand around my suitcase loosening.

The forest was taunting, oozing in and out of focus. Laughter, from far away, nebulously floated to my eardrums. A sickening, heavy feeling rested on my shoulders, dragging me down. Memories flooded my brain and invaded my orbs. I couldn't tear away from the painful scenes replaying behind my closed lids. The sound of laughter increased and a pained moan left my mouth.

"Wendy."

I snapped out of it. A lone tear had stained my cheek. Pan stood in front of me, his green eyes playfully looking at me. "Has the forest gotten to you this early, bird?"

I bit back a sarcastic comeback, blood invading my tongue. I wanted to scream and scratch and kick, but there was the fact that Michael and John were danger that was stopping me.

Pan cocked his head, wiping the tear from my cheek. "You've always been a weakling, huh, peach?" He watched as a bug scuttled over my forehead and hid in my hair.

Retrieving a ball of spit from my mouth, I sent it spiraling into Pan's face. The hate was evident in my eyes, and I knew I had done something I would regret later.

Peter gasped and took a step away from me. A curious hand touched the spot where my saliva dripped from his eye. There was a moment of utter silence, where Pan bathed in his anger, eyes fixed on his saliva-dripping fingers. "You nasty..." he trailed off, scrolling his angered orbs up to me. "Bitch!"

When I had thought he'd rip my head off, he went after Michael. The tyrant so effortlessly wrapped a hand around the boy's neck and pinned him to a tree. "No!" I yelled. Michael's face contorted in pain as Pan continued to apply pressure on his trachea. A suitcase lay opened on the jungle floor, items scattered about.

"Peter, stop!" I yelled.

"You know, bird," the boy king started, carelessly holding Michael up with one hand, the latter struggling for air, "I always thought you had immense amounts of respect for authority." He shrugged, and to my dread, he pressed harder on my brother's throat.

"Peter!"

"But I guess you've grown an attitude as well as a pair of tits, hey!?" he gnarled back, his lips retreating to show pearly white teeth. His lack of embarrassment at the use of slang for breasts peaked my interest. The Pan I knew never knew women well enough to refer to parts of them correctly. He was innocent when it came to sex, but now the words slid off his tongue like he'd known the word all along.

"Peter, let him go!" I pleaded, my voice desperate. Peter frowned, his glare piercing the reddened face of Michael. I began to cry, the fear for my brother overwhelming me. "Please!"

"Do you think pleading with that voice of yours will prevent me from ripping his fucking throat out, Wendy!?" he shouted back, the sound like a bark of a dog.

I took a step towards him, letting the suitcase fall from my grip. Putting my hands up to my heart, I pleaded, "Peter, please, let him go." Tears flooded my eyes. I took another step, and another, until I stood near him. "I'll do anything, let him go."

Peter's eyes shot to me curiously. He sized me up, eyes scrolling me up and down. "Your amount of disrespect is not worth my forgiveness," he growled, sound coming from deep within his chest. "However, I am willing to forget this little uprising if you live up to your proposal."

I sighed, tears dribbling over my cheeks. "I'll do anything, just don't kill him."

Peter looked up at Michael, who was turning purple. A smirk stretched at the tyrant's lips when he let the other boy out of his grasp.

I sighed happily, running to my brother. He was gasping and coughing roughly, eyes watering from the lack of oxygen. "Michael, thank God!" I cried, wrapping my small arms around him.

"I'm fine," he coughed, hands reaching out for me. I smiled, relief washing over me. But his hands weren't reaching out for comfort, they were repulsing. He was pushing me away.

Roughly, the boy got to his feet, pushing me out of his way. "Michael," I said, reaching out for his hand. He whipped it out of my reach and bent down to pick up his suitcase.

"Next time I won't hesitate," Peter declared. I furiously looked at him. "And you," he said all of a sudden, pointing at me, "will have to live up to that promise you made. And you, especially you, know how much promises mean to me."

I stared at him, mouth agape, tears running down my cheeks. I wanted to hide, run. I had bargained my life for my brother's, but the latter wasn't even grateful.

"She's all yours," Michael grumbled as he dashed by me. I grabbed his arm out of wit and pulled him back, boring my stare into his.

"No, please, Michael don't do this," I pleaded, my voice small, tears wetting my face. "I beg you, you're my brother!" I sagged in his arms, sobbing so hard the cries rocked his body too. He stood there, motionless, and I felt no comfort in sobbing against him.

"I-I..." he trailed off. I wanted him to wrap me in an embrace, to tell me everything would be fine. I wanted him to be the Michael I once knew. Unfortunately, Neverland had ripped that away from me like it had taken everything else.

"I hate you," he spat, his voice like venom, as he pushed me to the dirt ground and stomped off.

"Michael," I mumbled, frozen in shock, traumatized by his words. Why would he say such a thing? I had fought, given up my sanity, for him to be safe. His payment was hate and venomous words spat in my face. His reaction was incomprehensible.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, wetting my already wet face. "Michael!" I said louder, getting to my feet and stumbling after him. He was already far ahead, his figure just a blur behind my tears. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel his warmth under my cold fingertips. I wanted what we had before Neverland happened. Before Peter Pan was thrust into our lives. "Michael, come back!" I yelled, but he kept on walking. My voice was raw.

I felt arms wrap around my waist and pull me away from the scene of my brother disowning me. "Michael!" I thrashed in Peter's arms, kicking at nothing, gnawing my nails into his forearms, screaming my lungs out.

All the pain and sorrow came rushing back. All the darkness I had tried to leave behind in the form of a nebulous dream was becoming reality. I was having trouble breathing, trouble deciding if I should succumb to Neverland or continue fighting it. "Michael!" My voice was become high pitch, like a squealing pig about to be slaughtered. "Michael!"

And then Peter smashed my head against the nearest tree, and I fell limp in his arms. Like a rag doll. "Shut up!" he yelled beside my ear.

I felt the pain scattering over my skull, blood trickling down my forehead and mingling with my tears. I couldn't talk, couldn't move, the force of the impact rendering me motionless. Paralyzed.

"Shut the fuck up!" he continued to yell. As the pain subsided, I was beginning to feel his grip in my hair. "If you don't shut the _fuck _up I will kill you and leave you no chance at life!"

I sobbed, my hands clawing at the bloody bark. My scalp was aching from the impact and from Pan's grip on my mane. I was feeling so terrible, so doomed, that whatever happened next, couldn't be more horrible than my brother abandoning me with my worse nightmare.

"I am tired of dealing with your sorrows, Wendy bird," he growled, his voice an octave lower. I hiccuped, trying to wither my body away from his. "Now get up."

He pulled me to my feet, his fingers digging into my skull. I cried out in pain, but nonetheless, followed his orders.

I tread behind him through the jungle, my bloody feet wobbly on the floor. My arms were wrapped tight around my torso, eyes glued to the green ground. My first arrival on the island was nothing like this; no blood, tears, screaming, abandon. It had been the complete opposite. So much joy had filled my heart, had invaded my soul. Peter was the sun on a cloudy day, he was the laughter through tears, and he was a savior through horror. I wanted nothing else but to be with him, in all the ways a thirteen year old girl could want to be with a boy.

But this. _This_. Felt more like my departure from Neverland. So much blood stained my hands. So many lives had been lost for me to escape.

"You know, bird," Peter chanted from ahead, breaking my chain of thought, "you were so different at thirteen."

I frowned. Playing with Pan would never render you victorious. You were stupid if you thought you could win against the boy king.

"You had this girly air, like you were afraid to be touched." He laughed, still not slowing down. I gulped. "You walked with a curved back insecurely, you shied your eyes away from my skin, and you never once took off that awful night gown."

I stopped in my tracks. My cheeks were burning and I wanted him to stop. "But Peter," I said, "you were nothing but a boy too, you weren't thinking that way back then." I wanted to slap myself after the words came dribbling out.

He stopped too, turning his shit eating grin towards me. "Who's to say I thought like an innocent little prick, bird?" he cooed. I shivered violently.

"Because Peter, I felt it from you," I answered. "I felt this chastity, this purity of soul. You weren't soiled by adultery. There was this vibe from you. Like a boy."

In a flash he was in front of me, pearly whites exposed, face opened with malicious playfulness. "Oh, but, bird," he purred, "I am not a boy anymore."

I clenched my teeth hard. "I refuse to believe that," I reputed. "I refuse to believe the Pan I knew has disappeared. What changed you?"

He laughed loudly. There was something under that laugh that sounded like the old Pan; pure and innocent.

"Do you really want to know what changed me, bird?" he asked between laughter. I gulped. Did I really want to know? Maybe his answer would befuddle me, or worse, sadden me. I wanted to live as peacefully as I could here, with the least pain and damage I could get. If obeying Pan was my punishment, but my safety was the medal, I would do it.

"What?" I asked, my voice trembling. I didn't dare look at him as he approached so close, his mouth touched my forehead.

"You, bird, you took that innocence and ripped it from me."

I wasn't entirely befuddled. Pan would have changed in the presence of any woman. But to this dark point? "Why?" I asked, my voice smaller than an ant.

He chortled and placed a delicate, soft hand on my chin, gripping it between his thumb and index. "Because you lust for me and you made me lust for you," he growled, mouth tight as his grip at my chin hardened. "You looked at me with those eyes, pleading me to discover what that mouth could do!" He was hurting me and I knew a bruise would decorate my chin the morning after.

"Peter-" I tried to pull away, but as always, he was so much stronger than me.

"You taunted me, you whore!" he continued. "You lifted up your gown and showed me the horrific parts of you! You took my innocence and you squandered it between your filthy little legs. You kissed away the chastity, tongued away the purity! You let me touch your flesh where I shouldn't have!"

"Peter, you're hurting me!" I squealed, writhing and pushing against him.

"I'm hurting you, bird?" he growled. "How do you think I felt when I sat in my bed, thinking of nothing else but to bed you!? How do you think that took my childhood away when all I wanted was to pin you to the ground and have my way with you!?"

I sobbed, pushing against his arms, but he was invincible. "Peter, please!"

I hated that he called me those filthy names, that he dare treat me like a whore. I hadn't done anything to provoke his lust. I had just been Wendy. "There is nothing you can say to that now, is there, bird?" he gnarled. "You can't sugar coat it anymore."

"No, Peter you-"

He shook me hard, my head waggling to and fro. "What, Wendy!" he yelled. "Are you going to tell me it wasn't you!?"

"Peter you needed to grow up!" I shouted back.

All actions ceased. He stared at me like I was a complete fool. I knew the words were knives to him, but what else could I have said?

"Peter, you're eighteen for Christ sake's!" I defended. "An eighteen year old boy doesn't run around innocently. I didn't decide this, but you did! You decided to look at me a certain way, not me! It was your body and mind finally working together to grow up!"

His teeth were clenched and I feared the worse.

"You're right, Wendy," he sighed angrily, "eighteen year old boys should act like their age. But this _is _all because of you."

He roughly pushed me to the ground, my behind hitting the hard floor gracelessly. I gasped, fear invading my stomach painfully. "Peter, what-" He pinned my wrists over my head as he straddled my lap.

"You're right, Wendy," he laughed, "I should probably act like my age." He pushed against my fighting body. Tears flooded again and I was thrashing, screaming. No, this couldn't be happening. "I should see what you can do too, huh, bird?"

"Peter, don't!" I pleaded, but his impressive force combined with his weight were crushing me.

He fumbled with the sheath of his knife. "This is all your fault, Wendy," he growled. "You should blame yourself with what is about to happen."

I yelled so loud my voice became raw, until his hand clamped over my mouth, and I was left alone to face the demon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Saphira Blue: Right here;)**

**KaterinaPetrova: I think you will like the ending. Thank you for the review!**

**Anonymous: I am very, oh so very sorry for the mix up. EVERYONE: I am terribly sorry to announce that I have mixed Michael and John up. Michael is supposed to be the youngest, making John the eldest of the two. I completely effed that up I am terribly sorry. Please excuse my mistake. I will, albeit, continue with the switched roles. Please think this way: Michael and John are switched! Again, I am very sorry for that.**

**Enjoy.**

Chapter four: The Cage

Under his dark figure, I thrashed.

_No no no no no no._

His hands, like two cuffs, pinned my wrists above my head. He was an anchor holding down a boat.

_This cannot be happening!_

Tears streamed down my face. His laugh, like a haunting tormentor, twirled around in my brain. I screamed, but there was just the prying jungle to hear me. I kicked my legs, but it wasn't pausing him.

The knife glinted near my eye, silver and pointed. Fear bubbled inside me like an erupting volcano. Shaking my head, I moaned my repulsion, my fear. But Peter was oblivious to my trepidation. He bent over me at the hips and leaned the blade against my cheek. He bore his eyes into mine; those green, fire-lit eyes, and sneered. Pressing the weapon on my flesh, blood oozed out of the fresh wound.

"Peter-" I sobbed, the tears mingling with the crimson. "Stop, please!"

He continued to drag the cutting edge across my face, just enough to create a small scratch with droplets of blood popping through the skin. It hurt, but the wound wasn't my worse fear. I hated him so close, I feared him from this proximity. My legs were around his waist, his pelvis against mine. He had every ounce of control that he could possibly exercise over me. What he did with that control was what scared me the most.

When he was done carving my face, he took upon himself to drag the knife on my neck. With the thin, sensitive skin there, the pain was worse. When the knife reached the part of my skin that Peter had marked, it stopped. I closed my eyes shut, trembling under a now completely still Pan. His breathing was tense, the blade still dangerously close to my jugular. Sweat collected between our bodies, his of effort, mine of nervousness and fear.

"It's still there," he murmured, his breath fanning my neck. I shivered uncomfortably. I hated that mark. The scar was two half moons in the shape of Pan's fangs, but he had bitten so deep, the skin had taken days to repair. And now, the lighter part of my neck was the proof that Peter Pan did not come out of a fairy tale.

"Please," I sobbed as I fist my hands in his shirt. The smell of pine and ash climbed into my nose, nagging and throat-aching. A cold, long finger passed over the scar and intensified my shivers. I wanted his closeness, the feel of him over me, the heavy weight gone. I twisted around under him, but it didn't deter him the slightest.

"Peter!"

The sound of feet thrashing through the underbrush, flattening foliage, sounded in the jungle. Both Peter and I turned our faces to the oncoming intruder. My heart raced, my blood pumped, and every nerve in my system was screaming to take this chance of Peter being distracted to run. However, I feared what the punishment would be if I ever got caught trying to escape.

A cloaked boy with blonde, messy hair emerged from the jungle, breathless and wobbly. "Peter the-" He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the pair of us lying on the dirty, mossy ground. A frown knitted his delicate brows, familiarizing his features.

"Felix!?" I squealed. I knew I sounded weak, small, pathetic, but I didn't care. Felix had once been my friend, and if he still was, he would get me out from under the tyrannic boy.

Unfortunately, Felix didn't budge. He stayed frozen in spot like a deer caught in headlights, with his baby blue eyes bulging from their sockets. His pink mouth hung agape, pointed teeth peaking under the flesh. Despite three years of absence from my part and not seeing the boy for that long, he had not changed a bit. He was still exactly how I had left him; messy, boyish, rough, and quiet.

"Wendy..." the sound breathed off his lips like wind. I squirmed, but Pan refused to move. "Wendy is that you?" he asked, frowning deeper. I nodded, biting my lip and preventing me from screaming my agony.

And all of a sudden his curious, peaked look dissipated and was replaced by his usual calm, unshakable exterior. All my hopes of gaining his friendship back were flattened by the carelessness that washed over his features. His shoulders rolled back, he slouched on one hip, and curved a brow in dis concern. "Peter the boys are wondering who the fuck just sauntered into camp," he drawled, the swearing slipping off his tongue like it had so smoothly done all the years I had knew him. "They tied him up and they're about to slit his throat."

I panicked. Not Michael!

I squirmed harder, hitting my palms against his chest. Tears brimmed my eyes again, now in general fear for my sibling.

"For fucks sake," he mumbled, dipping his head in the crook of my shoulder. I squealed timidly, pushing at his shoulders, trying to get the slimy feeling of snakes on my skin to come off. "I can't get an ounce of peace here, can't I?"

He suddenly got to his feet. A warm breeze washed over my body, drying the sweat that had collected in every nook and cranny of my flesh. I sighed shakily, propping myself up on my elbows before the boy king bent down and scooped me up by my bicep. Roughly tugging me to his body and sheathing his knife, he nodded to his comrade and we started walking.

My heart raced and thumped against my rib cage. The more we approached camp, the harder the muscle pumped. I felt it in my throat, almost making me vomit. The fear was so great that it was all I could feel, all I could manage to feel. I wanted to feel pain and sorrow for how Felix brushed off Peter's attempt of rape on me. I wanted to feel some kind of joy for finding the blonde boy, and how he hadn't aged a second, and how that reminded me of the good days in Neverland. However, the trepidation and fear were too whole, too overwhelming to feel anything else. There wasn't room for more.

A memory, although, blinded me from reality for a split second. I was running in the Glades, my nightgown flowing around my thighs. The smell of freshly flourishing flowers invaded my senses and my eyes closed. There was a calm stillness, an irrevocable quiet. Everything around me was alive, yet nothing was moving. Peace reigned.

A warm, soft hand cupped the small of my back, and upon turning, I met the face of that beautiful boy who had perched at my window. His green eyes lit up under the sunlight, gleaming and playful. "Oh, Peter," I gasped, motioning my head to the beautiful Glade. "This place is wonderful." Back then my voice was filled with childish joy and virtue.

"It's Neverland," he laughed. I leaned into his touch, absorbing the warm, friendly feeling.

"Just like I saw it in my dreams," I answered, giggling. Peter bent slightly and brushed his lips against my forehead. Butterflies erupted in my stomach; like any little girl crushing over a boy.

The pulling of my arm brought me back to reality. Snapping out of it, I realized a lump-like, heavy feeling had settled in my stomach. Longing. Longing for those innocent, sunny days. For the lack of violence and cruelty and blood splattered on my face. For the lack of darkness in Pan's soul.

We walked through the thick jungle, straddling fallen logs, jumping over rocks, running across a stream. The same cool, inviting texture still haunted the island, but the features were more cruel; branches with extended claws, wiry bushes with Dreamshade, dying flora and fauna scattered about for scavengers. If one was to quickly swipe a look around, the island appeared peaceful and harmless. But only if you looked deeply, you could see the growing darkness that was thriving like mold.

Nearing the camp, Pan pulled me closer, pressing his hot mouth to my ear. "If you dare _anything _I will have your brothers' heads," he growled in my ear. Typical of Pan to be making threats using siblings or close ones. I nodded, biting the insides of my cheeks.

With one hand I reached up to touch my face. Creamy blood stained my fingertips and dots of pain scattered along my skin. I didn't want Michael and John to see me like that; John would think I was coming straight from horror movies. Although he had no idea what they were...

From the edge of the camp, still hidden by the forest line circling the encampment, a group of cloaked young boys was making its way through the mess of barrels, ropes, arsenal, and sleepwear. Glistening weaponry lay where books and toys had once lay. Ripped clothing was strewn where flashy animal pajamas had once been scattered. The lump in my throat grew at the sight of the horrific changes among the Lost Boys, and for the reoccurring memories of a long lost life with them.

Peter hauled me along, my bare feet tumbling along the rough jungle floor. My breath caught in my throat. I didn't want to erupt into camp like that; held by Pan like a dirty sock, bloodied cheek, gash on my flesh, and ripped clothing. The boys that I had once taught, cared for, and tucked into bed would look at me and see the weakness, the impossible hole of sorrow that encompassed my being.

I straightened myself up and peeled myself from Pan. He stared at me through fire eyes, his mouth clenched, jaw bone protruding. "I will not enter camp clung to you like dust," I declared bravely, but the shrill in my voice gave away the fear under.

Peter quirked a brow, stepped away from me, and examined me. I could see the confusion in his features; taunt mouth, biting the lip, frowned brows. He cautiously looked ahead at Felix, who had stopped in his tracks to wait for us. The second in command shrugged, obviously careless to my desires and Pan's decisions. "She can't run," he drawled. "We'll catch up to her. It's safe for her to walk on her own."

I didn't feel like he was speaking about me. The way he formulated his sentence, to distance himself from any association to me, was like he was describing an animal in need of taming that is let loose for the first time. His mouth formed the words and spat them out cruelly, obviously trying to transfer his message of hatred.

"I agree," Pan muttered.

I nodded halfheartedly. My feet trudged through the painful ground. Looking back, Peter stood behind me, doubting me. Felix stayed in front, ready to pounce if I made as much as a wrong sound.

I took a deep breath and emerged into camp.

Bustling boys ran passed me, laughing and screaming. I was knocked to the side, tumbling on my feet. Dirt smudged my toes. Some boys were jumping from the tree huts, others tying ropes to get up on the higher balconies. A clutter of boys were having a tug of war with a worn out, dirty rope. Six little ones were scattered around a barrel, devouring ripe fruits and nuts. Three mid teens were around a target, one shooting, another scared looking one standing with an apple over his head, and the last one watching and laughing. The state of the camp was disgusting. Dirt, dust, fecal matter, piss, blood, sweat, and mud crusted most parts of the area. The human excrements were in the hollow crooks of the camp, but the smell was nauseating and strong. The little ones were dirty to the point of no return, skin so crusted with mud that it was now innate among the flesh. The older ones were cleaner, but that was giving them a compliment. They reeked of sweat and prepubescence.

It seemed that only Felix and Peter had kept themselves well cleaned and fed. Although Felix could use a hair brush.

Instantly, I looked for Micheal and John. The swarm of dark cloaks was infuriating. Every single one of the youths could be my brothers. I grabbed a boy passing by me. His tender blue eyes met mine and immediately turned to coal. "What?" he spat.

I gasped, "Tootles?"

His scrawny hair peaked from under his hood. A frown knitted his brows. "Wait..." he muttered, his features opening up. "W-Wendy?"

"Yes!" I gasped once more, taking the boy by his two shoulders.

By then Pan and Felix had sauntered into camp. Peter came to stand behind me, while Felix disappeared in the crowd of cloaks.

"Have you seen John? Michael?" I asked in a frenzy. My heart raced when I saw him ponder over my question.

"John is..." he trailed off, leaving me hanging to his every word. "I think he went with Ben and Glock to the Lagoon."

I turned to the boy king behind me, catching his wiry, angry expression as his eyes met mine. My raised brows asked the question.

"No fucking way," he growled, shaking his head. "I am not taking you to the Lagoon."

Beaten, I let Tootles go. My arms fell lank by my sides, all the air escaping from my lungs.

"But Peter-" I started to protest, but he snapped. The little safe bubble I had managed to wiggle myself into with my bravery popped. Peter rushed to me, took a handful of my hair, and tugged me harshly to his side once again. I cried out in pain, face scrunching up.

He walked across the camp, me tumbling along with painful sobs and pleas. When I cracked an eye, the boys had merely slowed their activities to stare at the intrigue. They were bystanders to my humiliation and abuse. They're eyes were veiled by lackadaisical glass, reflective and uncaring. I wanted them to help, to defend me like they all once did. There was a time where the Lost Boys valued me and would put their lives down for me. But now, they shrugged and looked away, unaffected by their leader's cruelty.

A familiar face stood out among the crowd of tanned ones. Michael. He was just stood there, eyes lank, without emotion. The same glassiness covered his orbs as he watched me being hauled by the hair. I cried out his name, pleading for him to find an once of pity for me. The fear in my cries was heavy and desperate. Michael, however, seemed unaffected by the melancholy in my voice. Even the sight of my facial wound didn't deter him.

His indifference hurt me deeper than any wound could ever. It carved a hole in me, destroyed something within me that I felt break and scattered to pieces. Our sibling camaraderie of older times was shattered by his careless features. I felt empty, depressed to the deepest point, as Peter dragged me passed the jungle line and into the dense green.

I heard him growling, animal-like, and fought against his harsh grip. My sorrow and fear turned into bitter anger. I screamed and kicked and scratched at his hands, thrashing my body around. Inappropriate words tumbled out of my mouth, my words cutting and venomous. "You fucking bastard!" I yelled.

He thumped my body on the hard ground, the breath knocking out of me. Magically, he produced rope and used my breathlessness to tie my hands. I wanted to move away, but I was paralyzed. "You're a snake, you fucking devil!" I wheezed. He pulled me up once again and pushed me forward.

"And you're a bloody whore," he growled in my ear, snaking an arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. My back connected with his chest and I shivered in antipathy.

Anger rose in me. I bit my lip until blood oozed onto my tongue. "I did nothing to trigger the animal instincts in you," I growled back with as much force as I could muster. He tensed behind me.

"I wasn't meant to feel that way," he whispered harshly. I felt his hands languidly sliding down my hips, savoring the slight curve. A grunt of approval came from his throat. "You weren't supposed to make me like this," he continued with the same slow but harsh tone. He gently, almost candidly, slid his fingertips up my waist line, to my back, my shoulder, and finally the curve of my neck. Then he slid down my back again to the other side of my body where he explored my contours again. My skin boiled under my clothing, which was a mere green t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.

"I had no control over those things," I rebutted, forcing my body to remain still. He bravely took a handful of my behind and squeezed painfully. I squealed in both surprise and pain.

"You had every once of control over me," he growled, his hot mouth at my ear. "And I hated it, bird." With that he pushed me forward, sending me tumbling on all fours. I got up quickly, not giving him what he wanted; for me to be physically lower than him.

I didn't look at him. I couldn't bear to see the estranged monster he had become.

"Look here, bird," he commanded.

I turned slowly, the trembling in all my members starting again.

"No!" the sound of my voice was unknown to me, far away, chaotic, and a mess. But I didn't care. Fear blasted open inside me, flowing into my blood like fire. "No!" Again my voice was strange, so full of fear and trepidation that I didn't recognize it as mine.

The cage stood in all its horrific glory. Bamboo sticks served as the structure, ropes tying them together. It was a simple, not-hard-to-make cage, but the sight of it brought a flood of memories back. Dark, murky memories.

Tears brimmed my eyes and I fell backwards. "No," I muttered, shaking my head.

I clawed at the dirt.

"In you go, bird," Pan said, but it was just a whispered sound, like a breeze.

My breathing became rasp, shaky.

"Bird..." The cooing was just a back thought, the fear being too omnipresent to think about anything else, to hear and feel anything else.

"Please," I begged, but hands wrapped around my shaking body and flung me into the cage. Through tears, I saw the door close.

I was caged once again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five: Reminders of the Past

The first time Peter had ever dare lay a hand on me was the beginning of everything. It was a strange encounter. Pan's hands had been ice cold, hesitant but rough. He'd annihilated all space between us, cramming a hand between my legs with a frown of a curious boy furrowing. "Peter!" I'd squeaked. Although we'd been far off in the meadows, I'd been sure that the boy king would never dare do such a thing.

In my mind of an innocent, thirteen year old girl, I'd thought he was doing a mistake. My mind had swarmed with possible, rational outcomes as to why his cold fingers were swiveling at my core.

I had tried to push him away, my flimsy hands curling around broad shoulders. Panic had gripped my chest, clogging air within my lungs. "Stay still," he'd ordered. His voice was low, and a surprised gasp had left my throat. How could he had been so calm and calculating while invading my privacy in such dirty, confusing ways?

"Peter, hands off," I'd said, but he'd used his other hand to cover my mouth.

Scared, I'd began to twist in his grip. Nevertheless, he'd kept his digits firmly placed over the secret at the apex of my thighs. His eyes, mysterious and veiled, had looked at what his fingers were pressed upon. Using his impressive force, he'd buckled my knees and set me laying on my back. The cool, soft branches of the grass had tickled my bare back, pressing against the flesh. It was a sharp contrast to the boy's hands; the grass was soft and gentle, Peter was rough and unmindful.

I'd twisted harder, but the weight of him over me had pressed our bodies tighter together. My white dress had been roughly pushed over my midsection, exposing delicate flesh and dark, shameful places.

Tears had brimmed my orbs while the cold digits had slowly petted the skin of my apex. Shivers had ran across my skin, and I'd wanted to melt into the grass. I wanted to _be _the grass. I'd sobbed against his hand, but Peter never as much as considered me. His eyes had been far away things that I didn't recognize anymore. They hadn't look into me to search for permission. They hadn't filled with laughter, crinkled at the sides with happiness. Clouds of dark glass had covered them completely, and as I'd stared down at him, they came up once to register my reaction. They had been so careless, empty of all empathy. More sobs had raked my body and I'd begun to claw at his hair.

"Wendy!" he'd roared, his voice loud and dark in the peaceful meadow. I'd cried, muffled by his palm.

My undergarments had been removed, and that was when I'd felt truly violated, ripped from all the rights I had. As the fabric slid down my thighs, I'd felt raw and exposed to the darkness. His eyes, that I'd felt like piercing knives, drank in the sight of the only thing I had never dared to adventure to. It was a secret place, something only I was to know about. And he'd stripped me from that right to hold on to the treasure.

Through tears, I'd watched his brows furrow deeper. I'd felt his cold finger slip into me. "Peter!" I'd yelled against his palm, but he'd forced his hand deeper in my mouth so that I was biting on it. I'd twisted, the unknown, uncomfortable feeling of him driving me to the brink of panic.

I'd felt the freezing digit explore what it had newly found. It had rubbed, pushed, pulled, and poked. Every movement had been terror, torture. Even as I'd squeezed my legs, kicked him, clawed at him, he'd continued to violate me.

And the worse, was that action, deep in the meadows, was nothing compared to what he'd made me suffer.

When he'd reached what he thought was enough exploration, he'd slipped out of me and rolled me on my stomach. My mouth was released from his hand and I'd screamed, digging my nails in the cool grass in my attempt to escape. He'd grabbed my neck, pulled me back against him, and bit the side of my neck.

I'd yelled even louder. Every innocent, virtuous aspect of me that I had left vanished with his teeth digging into my flesh. My rear had been pressed against something hard and he had moved against me, like he'd been trying to put something in me. But he couldn't or wouldn't.

He'd been muttering something against my bloody flesh that he'd now released from his teeth. His sweaty forehead had pressed against my cheek, a hand holding my head up, the other holding me against him. He'd continued to push his pelvis against my rear, something sharp poking at my thighs.

"I...you..." he'd muttered. But the pain, confusion, fear, and torture had deprived me from all actions. I'd been numb; putty in his hands.

A hand had groped painfully at one of my breasts and I'd winced. " I hate you."

I'd shivered. Everything he'd been doing had been strange and confusing, not to say scary.

I'd let him push my body against the ground, my cheek pressed against the now warm grass. He'd spat the same words out. "I hate you, Wendy!" he'd roared. I'd felt sharp pain on my neck, but my heart had refused to feel anything for the boy who had once won my heart.

"You're a-a..." he'd trailed off, the words not coming to his mouth. "A whore!"

He'd gotten to his feet and pulled me up by the roots of my hair. "And now you'll pay for what you've done to me."

* * *

><p>Remembering that first day, sitting quietly in my cage, I began to understand the fundamental reasons for my flaming hate for Peter. The reasons for why my heart never cared for anything but what I had held onto before Peter took everything from me. I now understood why no one, except my brothers, had meant anything to me. Peter had showed me, taught me through pain and tears, that any loving acts were tied to hate and fault. Every time a boy had tried to kiss me, nagging feelings had invaded my mind. Hate had blossomed in my stomach, driving me to push everyone away.<p>

I had been thirteen, on the brink of womanhood, where every little mystery of a girl's anatomy was revealed. Although my mind had had doubts about the mechanics of sex, Peter had taken every soft, gentle, sweet aspect of it. He'd ridden me from the desire to feel warm, fuzzy, and loved. And now, when my body was exposed, I could only feel the cold, painful hands of the boy king who'd taken everything from me.

"I read a book once."

I turned to where the well known voice was singing from. Up in the trees, Pan straddled a thick branch, legs carelessly swinging to and fro. A light, charismatic smirk played on his pink lips. He liked to be up in trees. They gave him a sense of superiority. Way up in the canopy of leaves, far away from prying hands, the boy king exercised all kinds of power. And power; his beloved.

"Happy to know you read a fucking book, Peter," I spat, my hands curling around the dirt. A spider, the size of my finger, crawled across my wrist. I didn't even wince. Nothing could scare me anymore, nothing but what the boy had in mind.

There was a snapping sound above and a chuckle. "Why so snippy?"

I looked up again. He was still jolly, straddling the branch, his fingers drawing intricate shapes on the bark. "Because I'm in a bloody cage!" I barked.

He laughed, throwing his head back. A pleasant, soft demeanor softened his features. He was playful and boyish. Then, when his eyes returned to the mischievous regular state, his traits took a dark, sinister twist.

"Oh and how the idea is so... tempting," he answered, voice low and raspy. His eyes met mine in a twisted, devilish glare. Delirious waves crashed within his iris, coagulating with the tangled colors of his orbs. The tree, which was fully grown and impressive, seemed vulnerable and victimized with the tyrant teenager sitting on one of it's branches.

I titled my head. "How is the idea of me caged so tempting?" I asked, my voice coated with so much darkness I didn't recognize it as mine anymore.

He shrugged. "I'm too lazy to explain my ideas," he answered smugly, pouting his lower lip. I sighed.

For all Peter Pan was; evil, mischievous, and sadistic, he was not lazy. Possessing a strong will to "play", Pan was never once sat quietly for a while at a time. Snippy, bouncing, and irritated, staying calm was not one of the boy's qualities. Even now, as I stared at him through the bamboo caging, I saw his fidgeting. Shoulders were twitching while his lips jerked from side to side. He was impatient. Very impatient.

I was not about to get trapped in one of his games. The one time I did, I almost drowned. "Remember when I almost drowned?" I whispered.

He chuckled lightly, swinging his leg over the branch so he wasn't straddling it anymore. "Oh, I remember that day like it was yesterday," he jeered. "It was..."

Peter had decided that all the boys were going swimming. And so was I. Despite my countless screams of rejection, I had still ended up by the stream, my toes tickled by the cool waves of water. Even with the young ones laughing and splashing around in the blue, there had been an after feeling of grim plans. The feeling had grown under my skin like mold, and I hadn't been able to resist the urge to scratch. _Something is about to happen, _I'd thought hopelessly.

And there he had been, standing on the other bank, water trickling down his bare chest. All my young female instincts had been telling me to look away, to shy my eyes from his obvious privacy. My mother's advice, her words, had come haunting. All the rules had come rushing back.

"Wendy!" he'd screamed from the shore. "Join me!"

I'd shook my head. The memory of him and I in the meadows had still been vividly clear and bleak in my mind. I could still feel his finger, cold and bony, probing inside me. A gloomy shiver had slid down my spine.

"Wendy, bird, darling!" he'd sang, smile stretching his beautiful, plump lips. He'd looked so boyish and pure and innocent, standing by that shore, shirtless and wet. His smile had been virtuous, inviting, and comforting.

I'd stepped in the water, my toes wriggling. Coolness enveloped my body when I'd gotten chest deep in the water. The murky waves sloshed around me, like the bodies of the Lost Boys did, only they stared at me with wide, playful eyes.

"C'mon Wendy!" I'd heard Peter. He'd been knees deep in the water, his hand outstretched. I had the stupid thought that he was going to apologize for his previous actions, or make me forget them.

I hadn't expected what had come next.

He'd joined me in the water, our chests deep under the murky waves. "A new game," he'd spoke. Bodies enclosed around us, jittering, anticipating.

"What is it, Peter?" I'd squeaked.

A cool hand had rested on my shoulder, and the memory of the meadow had come crashing back. I'd shivered, apathy at the back of my throat. The touch of him had been a reminder of the cruelty he'd shown before and I couldn't stand it.

"Play fight," he'd announced.

I'd frowned. "But Peter," I'd started, "I'm not a boy. I do not play fight."

He'd simply titled his head like a curious boy and laughed. "The thing with Neverland is," he'd chuckled, "there are no rules, Wendy. Only what I say. And I say we play fight!"

With a roar from their superior, the Lost Boys screamed and started at each other. Water had sloshed and splashed all around me, bodies knocking against mine. I had soon been a simple mess of cries and water in my mouth. A boy had crashed against me and sent me toppling deep in the waters. My eyes had closed, water flooding my throat, as I'd sunk beneath the dark waters, pushed and shoved by the fighting boys.

I'd thrashed, pushing bodies away, but no one had seemed to notice me. I'd gotten feet, heels, hands, elbows, and knees in the face and stomach. My yelps had been muffled by the water.

And finally, Peter had taken me out. He'd dragged my coughing, trembling body along the shore while I'd struggled to catch my breath. Laying me on the warm stones, the boy had sat beside me. His eyes had roamed every new curved exposed by the effect of water on my clothes. A pink tongue had escaped through plump lips to lick across sharp teeth.

"I could have let you drown there for what you're doing to me," he'd muttered, voice satanic. I'd shivered, a sob escaping my throat. "But...I can't. These," and he'd touched the curve of my barely hatched breasts, "have an effect on me that I can't understand. Like a puzzle, Wendy." I'd cried harder. My mother had always told me that boys were never supposed to touch you, unless they were your husband. She'd pointed at the places where the boys were _especially _not allowed to touch. And then Peter had been caressing one of the very spots, taking away all the rules and protection I had been framed with my whole life. "I want to understand why I feel like this," he'd growled. "But it makes me so angry, that I feel like this. I've seen mothers and fathers doing this. It's not for children. I'm not an adult."

He'd thrust his hand back and left. I'd stayed, sobbing quietly on the hot stones, while the Lost Boys continued to play fight in the water.

* * *

><p>"That day was funny though," Peter laughed, jumping down from the tree at last. I stared back at him, all the anger expelling from my eyes. He rolled his. "Oh Wendy, you can't possibly still hold a grudge on me for that!"<p>

He came inches from the cage, crouching down so his horrific orbs now bored into mine. "You know I've done worse," he whispered, his lips shy of a smirk.

"You took everything from me," I growled between clenched teeth. "You ripped those things away from me and left nothing but destruction and ashes in your wake."

His eyes, now a mixture of anger and animosity, glared at me from what seemed like dark pits. His lips were taunt, jaw clenched and hands in fists. The air around us was heavy, darkness now contouring my vision. Everything seemed to shrink to just the pair of us. The world was nothing else but him and I, and whatever I had left of myself that he wanted to take.


End file.
